Percy Jackson 4  5: The Titans' Murse
by H. K. Rissing
Summary: Kronos needs a sheath for his scythe. But where to get one? Why, JC Penny's, of course!


**This is supposed to be a funny fic, satirizing (I guess) Kronos. Oh, you know you're a Greek mythology nerd when your computer accepts Kronos as a word. **

Kronos scowled deeply. It was a boring, rainy Saturday morning in the Titan camp. Everyone was running around sharpening things and having mock battles and shooting things- just your average morning. It felt great to be in corporeal form again, but Luke's body was, for one, infinitely shorter than Kronos had been when he was alive, and that was a little hard to handle, and for another he had this great big old ugly scar on his face. But oh well. At least he was here. Beggars can't be choosers and all.

He tossed his scythe idly from hand to hand. He needed a convenient way to carry it. The stupid telekhines had made the blade all right, just no sheath. He was flipping through a catalogue of something called JC Penny's. "What kind of a name is that?" he mused. This JC Penny's catalogue was filled with pictures of smiling children jumping around wearing inconvenient clothing of questionable color and style. The boys looked like skinny little punks, the kind that would have been abandoned at birth, in his days, and the girls looked like snot-nosed, spoiled little brats who would be liable to complain about everything. The grown boys were ridiculous because none of them had beards, and they all looked way too pleased just to be standing there, modeling some preppy-looking outfit. And the older girls didn't have children with them. What kind of society was this?

Backpacks. That would be convenient, and big enough for him to stash other stuff in it. He could zip it to keep his scythe from falling out, and it would look all normal and unassuming until- BAM! He pulled a big old scythe from it and cut someones' head off! Kronos smiled. He liked this image.

"NAKAMURA!" he bellowed. He liked bellowing. It made him happy to see everyone cringe in the face of his fury and scramble to do whatever he said. Nakamura- who Kronos knew had a first name, but he really couldn't be bothered to learn it- came scuttling forward. "Yes, my Lord?" he asked. Kronos noticed belatedly that he was another one of the beardless wonders of this millennium. He decided he'd have to have a meeting about this, making it mandatory for every male-type being in his army to grow a thick beard. "Do you know how to drive, Nakamura?" (That was such a fun word to say, Nakamura) he demanded imperiously. "Uhh. . . Yes, my lord." He responded. "Good. Get whatever you drive ready. I need to get somewhere."

{o.o}

Kronos scowled even more deeply. When he had asked Nakamura if he knew how to drive, he hadn't asked him to specify. It turned out what Nakamura knew how to drive was a poky little moped with a sidecar. So Kronos had uncomfortably crammed Lukes' lanky form into the sidecar, and told nakamura to step on it. And it turned out, "stepping on it" was about twenty miles per hour. So the Lord of Time, King of the Titans, ended up weaving through traffic fifteen miles under the speed limit on a Saturday morning in ?New York City, trying to get to JC Penny's to purchase backpack.

He strongly hoped he didn't run into any important demigods. He didn't think he could stand it if that punk Percy Jackson show up, made fun of him for riding in a sidecar, and ruined his backpack-purchasing plans. As they were meandering along ,they drove past a store labeled JC Penny's. "Stop! STOP! STOP HERE!" Kronos shouted. He had not told Nakamura where he was trying to go, and thus Nakamura jerked the bike to a halt and left a five-foot gash in the paint job of a blue Prius. "At JC Penny's, my lord?" he asked incredulously. "Don't question me, scab." Kronos snarled as he yanked himself out of the sidecar. Once he was standing on the sidewalk, trying to get some feeling into his legs, he turned back and began fishing around in the sidecar for his scythe. He had ended up sitting on it at one point, because he hadn't wanted to drive down the highway waving his secret weapon in the face of anyone who happened to be around, but there was no room for it in the sidecar. "Uhh. . . do you want me to wait out here, Lord?" Nakamura questioned timidly. "No," said Kronos, stalking swiftly to the large, glass, revolving doors. "And walk faster," he ordered over his shoulder.

He pushed his way through the revolving door and strode into the store as if he owned it. "You!" he demanded regally, pointing at the smiling woman behind the customer service desk. "Yes, sir, may I help you?" she asked, very politely. He glared at her perky happiness. "I very seriously doubt it. Where do you stock backpacks?" he asked rudely. The girl blinked twice, but the stupid smile never left her face. "We stock them on the fourth floor, directly to your right when you get off the escalators, which are right over there." He responded cheerfully, pointing in the direction of the escalators. Kronos stormed off in the direction she had indicated without saying a word. Ethan, bobbing in his wake, tried to make an apologetic face at the customer service girl, but because of the eye patch, it only served to disgust her further.

"So. . . . a backpack, my lord?" as Ethan as they got on the escalator. "Silence, Nakamura," Kronos snapped. He began intolerantly pushing old ladies out of his way as he began striding up the escalator stairs two at a time. On the escalator to the third floor, however, Kronos was stopped in his tracks by a very, very obese woman dressed in a huge, haiwaiian-print muumuu. She took up the entire escalator, and Kronos could not push past her. Not that he didn't try, but she must not have felt his none-too-getnle nudging through her supremely thick layer of padding. He huffed impatiently, glowered, growled, tapped his feet, drummed his nails, and rolled his eyes.

After escaping from the blockade, (the lady lumbered off towards the sleepware on the third floor, presumably to purchase a less restrictive garment than her XXXXL-muumuu.) they got to the fourth escalator with little to no interference, and reached the backpacks. Kronos knew right off the bat that any color other than solid black would not do. He swiftly realized, however, that JC Penny's didn't really stock solid black backpacks. They had black with skulls (a Christmas present for his son Hades, if Hades defected to the Titan army?) black with multicolored monsters (never in a thousand years) black with white stripes (not dangerous enough) and black with pink polka dots. (never in a hundred thousand years) They did, however, have plain dark blue and plain dark green. He decided on plain dark green, because the blue looked worse with Luke's hair.

He wedged his scythe into the pack, zipped it up and slung it on. It fit neatly over Luke's brawny shoulders. He spun around. "Well, Nakamura?" he asked proudly. "Uhhhhhh. . . . . . " Nakamura responded. "Is that your default answer? 'uhhhhh'" Kronos mocked. "There's a mirror over there, lord," Nakamura contributed, in what he clearly thought was a helpful tone. Kronos walked over to the mirro, feeling proud of his backpack, which bumped against Luke's shoulder blades reassuringly.

He was utterly disgusted by what he saw. Instead of looking like a bad Russian terrorist who'd kill you and your mother without thinking twice, or something equally impressive, he looked like a college student about to head to calculus class! Not imposing, regal, or terrifying in the least! Curse that stupid Castellan for not being ten years older! No wonder Nakamura had been all, "uhhh. . . . "- he wouldn't have wanted to try to describe how he looked to himself either.

Kronos tore the pack from his shoulders, ripped the zipper open, yanked the scythe out and threw the disgraced backpack on the ground. As he was storming back to where Nakamura was standing, trying to look inconspicuous next to the backpack tree-which was in bad shape from all of Kronos' pawing- he spotted something else. Next to the backpack tree, tucked semi-out-of-sight, was a shape, covered with zippers. Kronos excitedly drew it out. It was a bag, covered with pockets, pouches, and a really big interior compartment. But the best part was that it was as pure and solid black as his soul. A low, evil laugh rolled out of Kronos as he crammed his scythe into it, and threw it over his shoulder.

There was only one strap, and it came down past his hips, but Kronos really liked it. It looked very dangerous. He spun around triumphantly. "Well, Nakamura?" he insisted once more. Nakamura, for some strange reason, looked like he was holding back laughter. "A. . . . ah, a man-purse, my lord?" he wheezed. Kronos frowned briefly at him. "This is a very excellent bag, _not_ a man purse, whatever that is," Nakamura blinked three times, then said, "As you say, my lord," Kronos nodded, singular glee bright in his eyes. He paused time and strolled leisurely out the rotating door back down on the first floor without paying for the bag.

He wedged himself into the sidecar, not even minding how undignified he looked. They motored away, Kronos with his murse on his lap and a glorious smile on his face. Ethan was very frightened indeed.


End file.
